It's a little before 7am and Gold Beach is quiet. A handful of people are taking a daybreak stroll and admiring the quaint French villas that overlook the sea. Were it not for
the Mulberrys perched beyond the shoreline, this could be any other beach. These Mulberrys (artificial harbours) were laid by the allies on D-Day so that men and supplies could
be brought ashore. Today, exactly sixty years on, they stand as a relic of that fearful day.
I had travelled to Normandy, not only to pay my respects to those who didn't make it back, but also to learn more about the vehicles that carried the soldiers into battle and,
in some cases, carried them out again. It seems incredible to think that the 200,000 seamen and 185,000 soldiers that set sail for France, were accompanied by 20,000 vehicles.
Joining me on the trip is a Willys Jeep called Elusive Elaine. Built in 1941 as the American Army's light reconnaissance vehicle, the Jeep became an icon of WWII. By 1945, more than 600,000 had been built by a combination of Willys-Overland, Ford and Bantam. They were used across the world as ambulances, weapons carriers and battlefield taxis. The US General George C. Marshall even described them as "America's greatest contribution to modern warfare".
Elaine is painted in the colours of the 505th Parachute Regiment of the US 82nd 'All American' Airborne Division and the letters - C24 - on the rear, indicate that she was a radio car and the 24th vehicle of C Company. It's likely that Elaine saw service in Europe in 1944-45, but with so many produced, tracing the history
I reach out a right foot and prod the starter button that kicks her into life. Early examples had ignition keys, but the American GIs kept losing them - a problem in the heat of
war. My main problem today is finding a comfortable driving position. The average grunt in 1941 was significantly shorter than we are today and my 6ft 3in frame demands a
crab-like posture. There's also the discomfort of sitting on top of the hot fuel tank.
The Willys uses a 2199cc 'Go-Devil' four-cylinder petrol engine that develops 60bhp and a useful 105lb ft of torque. It only weighs 1054kg (about half as much as a modern 4x4)
so the performance could almost be described as sprightly. And with such a short wheelbase, four-wheel drive and a low-ratio gearbox, it's extremely useful in the rough stuff.
The three-speed gearbox and dreadful aerodynamics limit the top speed to around 65mph, but this feels plenty fast when you press the brake pedal. Some toboggans are more adept at stopping
than the Willys. You stamp on the throttle and then stamp a bit harder, but it's only when your leg muscles cry out in pain that Elaine proves willing to stop. The steering also has all
the feel of a fairground dodgem and the ride is downright abysmal. Anyone sitting in the back, on top of the solid rear axle, is in for a very rough ride.
Many of the Jeeps that survived the war ended up in private hands and hundreds of enthusiasts have brought their vehicles to Normandy to take part in the commemorations. On one of the
roads to the northwest of Sword Beach, I bump into John Summers, a retired farmer, who's shipped his Ford Seep all the way from Noosa Heads in Queensland. "It spent six weeks in transit
and I picked it up in Le Havre," he explains. "A Seep is an amphibious version of a Jeep - Ford built 12,000 between 1942 and '43. It'll do 5mph on water and about 40mph on land. I've
always wanted to come to Normandy, but in the past, I'd always been too poor or too busy."
The presence of so many period vehicles stirs the emotions of many veterans...
"I can remember the Jeeps buzzing around like flies," says 78-year-old Bernard Gregory, as he inspects Elaine.
"We'd never seen anything like it before and we thought they were fabulous. I can remember a three-tonne truck being stuck in a ditch and a Jeep just came along and pulled it out."
Veteran Willingham made it through D-Day unscathed, but on 2nd August he was hit by a mortar during "a ding-dong battle with Jerry." His chest, arms and face were all badly burnt and the shock
left him temporarily blind. "I was strapped onto a stretcher and carried away on the roof of a Jeep," he continues. "Another chap and I were laying side-by-side, attached to a special
framework." The Jeep carried him to a field station and he was eventually airlifted back to England onboard a Dakota.
Had it not been for the Jeep's off-road capability, Willingham would almost certainly not have survived. It is almost impossible to calculate how many lives the Jeep helped to save
throughout the war, but it must have been considerable. While the D-Day commemorations have understandably concentrated on the human dramas, the role of the machines must not be
forgotten.
